Page 113 of Goodbye Days

“Um. No, sir. Your Honor. I don’t.” My voice is high and tight, like an overwound guitar string. I know I sound guilty.

“Venture a guess.” Not an invitation. A command.

It feels like a bone is stuck in my throat. “From the police?”

“After Thurgood was killed, the police turned over his personal effects to me. His phone was among them. Getting your number was a matter of looking at the last number to contact my son before his death.”

He lets the silence breathe, the way Dr. Mendez does. But it breathes differently: someone gathering his strength to run me through with a sword.

“Oh.” What do you say to that? Nice, good work.

“I suppose you’ve heard the news.”

“Yes. Your Honor. I did.”

“I suppose you feel pretty lucky.”

“I—I—”

And then he cuts me off, which is great, because I didn’t have a good answer to that statement. “Well, you were not lucky. If you repeat what I’m about to tell you to anyone else, I will be very displeased. Are we clear?”

My mouth is parched. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“I personally asked the district attorney not to pursue charges.”

I’m dumbfounded. “Thank you, sir,” I say finally. “I promise—”

He laughs bitterly. “Thank you? This was not a personal favor to you. Nevertheless, you are greatly in my debt, and I intend to collect.”

“Okay.” Here comes the hammer. I brace myself.

“I’m told that you’ve embarked on a series of ‘goodbye days,’ during which, if I understand correctly, you spend a day with the victim’s family and have a final day of remembrance?”

“Right.” Victim’s.

“Right what?”

“Right, Your Honor.”

“And you’ve done them so far with the Lloyd family and the Bauer family.”

“Yes, Your Honor. How did Your Honor—”

“Find out? Adair Bauer contacted my office, the police, and the district attorney’s office about them. She thought we should investigate whether you’d said anything self-incriminatory. She wanted us to talk to her parents. Not a bad idea.”

That’s why she was so adamant that her parents do it. “Oh.” And then I hastily add, “Your Honor.”

“Now I want my goodbye day for Thurgood.”

“Your Honor, I—”

“This Sunday you will be at my home at five-thirty a.m. You will dress for vigorous physical activity. You will also bring clothes appropriate for church. This is not a throw-on-your-T-shirt, Starbucks church. You dress the way you did for my son’s funeral. Understood?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

The line goes dead.

I feel ungrateful to the gods of fate that I’m not happier about the blade of prosecution not dangling over my neck anymore. I fantasized about this. But that was taking for granted Jesmyn’s presence in my life. It was also taking for granted that, in a few days, I wouldn’t be spending the day with the person who hates me the second most.